


Kiss Me Like You Do

by wingsofbadass



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Birthday Party, Dorkiness, First Kiss, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4147980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsofbadass/pseuds/wingsofbadass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celebrating his birthday, Marco had definitely expected to be a little buzzed. What he hadn't expected was the way Jean made him feel that night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me Like You Do

**Author's Note:**

> As always, a big thank you to Poppy for the help and encouragement!

Marco was giggling softly at nothing in particular as he stumbled down the hallway, headed for the bathroom. His shoulder would probably hurt in the morning from bumping gracelessly into the wall, almost taking down one of his mother's art pieces, but he couldn't feel the pain in that moment. He straightened the frame carefully, then continued towards the white door that stood slightly ajar. In the living room, someone was loudly demanding a game of spin the bottle. Marco couldn't be sure over the boom of the bass line, but he was fairly sure it had been Reiner.

Shoving the door open with one hand, Marco stumbled into the bathroom and promptly leaned against it to close it with his butt and trap the noises outside. To his surprise, he found Jean leaning over the rim of the bathtub, rooting around between the mass of bottles sitting in cool water.

“Oh, hey,” Jean greeted, looking up at him with a smile. There was that flush to his pale skin that spoke of the drinks he'd had. With one hand, he pushed back the bleached hair that had fallen into his eyes. “You got any Beck's left, man?”

“If there's none in the tub, we're out,” Marco replied, shoving the sleeves of his plaid shirt up to his elbow and stepping to the edge of the tub to the left of Jean. “Wait, let me see.”

Plunging both hands into the cold water, he started searching through bottles of beer and hard liquor and soft drinks in search of his best friend's favorite brand. When he couldn't find one immediately, he gave a groan of annoyance, rolling his eyes dramatically at the effort. Jean laughed at him a little, as he settled down beside Marco on the bathroom floor, leaning his back against the tiles of the tub.

“I thought you were the only one who drinks that piss,” Marco complained, bringing one wet hand to the edge of the tub and shifting his weight onto it to relieve his back a little. “Or have you managed to drink the two six-packs by yourself?”

Jean snorted. “I'd be asleep in your bed already if I'd drunk two six-packs of beer.”

“I think you're out of l–“

Marco yelped embarrassingly, as his wet palm slipped along the acrylic rim. He blinked down at his treacherous hand, before his gaze went to his elbow, where Jean's fingers had flown up to steady him.

When he met Jean's gaze, Marco found them wide and full of something like surprise. He couldn't quite make sense of the emotion swirling in them.

“Be careful,” Jean said, drawing his eyebrows together. His usually cold fingers felt warm on Marco's skin now.

“Look at the mortal peril I put myself in for you,” Marco teased, smiling down at Jean, who snorted in that way of his that was derisive and affectionate all at once. Giving up on the Beck's quest, Marco fished out a brown bottle and held it up with a flourish that rained cold droplets down on both of them.

Jean blinked for a moment, before focusing on the wet label threatening to slide off the bottle. His mouth curved into a wide grin. “Jägermeister? Fuck yeah!”

“I knew you'd like this turn of events,” Marco laughed, as he turned and let himself slide inelegantly down the tiles until he was sitting next to Jean. He twisted open the cap and offered the liquor to his friend.

“Birthday boy gets to drink first.”

“Too kind.” The smile didn't seem to have any intention of leaving Marco's face. He raised the Jägermeister in salute, before setting it to his lips and tipping his head back to take a big sip. The dark liquid burned down his throat until it settled hotly in his stomach, sending warmth flooding through his veins. Jean laughed a little at the way he shuddered in the aftermath.

Narrowing his eyes at Jean, Marco passed the bottle to him and watched him bring it to his own lips. Jean closed his eyes as he mirrored Marco's move and tilted his head back to drink. Marco's gaze drifted from his fluttering lashes down to his exposed neck. He watched, mesmerized, how Jean's throat bobbed once, twice with each swallow.

Jean's gasp when he put down the bottle startled Marco out of his trance. “Fucking hell!”

“Wimp.”

Marco's remark was met with a glare, sharp and exhilarating for some reason. “Oh, yeah? Show me what you got, then!” Jean croaked, holding the bottle up to him.

“Please, I won't let myself be taunted into drinking more than I can handle.” Nonetheless, he wrapped his fingers around the bottle's neck and thus also around Jean's. Neither of them pulled away for a moment, just looking at each other.

Jean laughed and pulled his hand away slowly. “Good thing one of us is responsible.”

With a hum of acknowledgment, Marco took another sip, pacing himself. He liked maintaining a comfortable buzz. He also liked the way Jean was watching him. When he lowered the Jägermeister, he realized Jean's gaze was following his hand. Intrigued, Marco raised the bottle back to his mouth to drink again, noting the way Jean watched the motion.

“You have really nice hands,” Jean blurted out, eyes flying back up to meet Marco's almost defiantly as though he was daring him to make fun of his statement or maybe the blush that was obviously staining his pale cheeks. Marco could feel warmth rise into his own face in turn at the sudden admission.

“Uh, thanks?”

Without warning, Jean reached down to snatch Marco's free hand with his, bringing it close to his face like he needed to inspect something he'd never seen before. Marco's heart was beating wildly against his ribs, pumping more heat through his body, a mimicry of the sips of liquor he'd taken.

Jean turned Marco's hand over, exposing his palm. When he touched a finger to the sensitive skin, tracing a gentle path along the spiderweb lines, Marco shivered involuntarily. Jean looked up at him at that, a soft smile curving his lips, before dropping his gaze back to Marco's hand.

“What's so fascinating?” he asked Jean, his voice coming out as a whisper.

“It's so different from mine,” Jean said, shrugging, like it was completely normal to hold his best friend's hand. Something prickled in the pit of Marco's stomach and he wanted to think it was hesitation, reluctance, maybe an unspoken protest against this sudden hush of closeness that had laid itself over them. But he'd never been someone to lie to himself.

As if determined to prove his words, Jean flattened his hand against Marco's, pressing their palms together. The tingling sensation almost left Marco breathless.

Jean's hand was a little smaller than his own, slender like his whole body, elegant somehow. As skinny as was, it was no wonder his circulation was bad enough to leave him with constantly cool limbs, while Marco's hand was as warm as ever. Following that unknowable sensation in his gut, Marco twisted his fingers between Jean's, threading them together. The prickling in his gut grew into a violent flutter that erupted deep in him and burst forth to spread through his veins, the loveliest feeling he could imagine, when Jean squeezed his hand.

There was no denying what this moment was. Marco could hear the ecstatic thrum of his pulse rushing in his ears and it was because he was holding Jean's hand. His head was no longer just swimming from of the alcohol.

When he finally gathered enough courage to look up from their entwined fingers, Marco found Jean already looking at him. Jean had always been more courageous than him. Of course he'd look at him, unashamed of the affection painted on his face.

“You call this lump of ice a hand?” Marco asked, voice teasing but wobbly, hoping to gloss over the fluster fighting its way up to the surface of his calm.

Jean laughed at that, flicking his eyes down, and the sound was colored with a bashfulness Marco had never seen in him. He was struck, not for the first time, by the thought of how handsome Jean was. Marco had always admired the fine features of his face, those high cheekbones, the straight nose, the sharp jaw. His gaze came to rest on the way Jean dug his teeth into his lower lip to stifle his giggling.

Only when Jean looked back up at him, did Marco realize how close he was.

He could see the dark flecks in a canvas of amber iris. Marco's entire world shrank down to Jean and the irresistible pull he suddenly seemed to possess. Jean's low laughter died down with a last exhale that was warm on Marco's lips.

Marco felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down into churning sea, frightening and fascinating in its uncontrollable ardor. Adrenaline was coursing through him and he wanted to jump, plunge himself into the waves, let the surge pull him under. He wanted to drown in this feeling.

Jean's hand squeezed his once more.

And then they were kissing. Jean let out a deep breath through his nose as soon as their lips touched, almost like a sigh of relief. It was a soft kiss that felt like a _finally_ and a _not enough_ at the same time. Marco reached up with his free hand to cradle Jean's jaw, using his hold on him to crush their mouths together more urgently.

The clinking of their teeth had them breaking out into giggles against each other's lips for a moment. Jean looked so damn gorgeous in that moment, it threatened to blow Marco's mind. Before Marco could give in to the urge to kiss him again, Jean pressed their lips back together.

Kissing Jean was nothing like he'd expected. There was no insecurity, no nervousness licking at his insides. As Marco tilted his head to the side to deepen the kiss, all he felt was an overwhelming sense of how right this was. He was kissing his best friend and it felt _so good_. Jean let out another noise that sent chills up and down Marco's spine, kissing him back with more fervor than before.

Loud banging against the bathroom door made them jump apart.

“I need to fucking pee!” came Ymir's impatient voice from the other side, her words punctuated by some violent rattling of the door handle.

Eyes wide, Marco looked at Jean, who was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Give me a moment!” he bellowed over his shoulder, before turning back to Jean with a hushed voice. “What do we do?”

Jean looked taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“If she sees us coming out together, she'll know we were – you know,” Marco whispered uncomfortably. He didn't want Jean to think he was ashamed of what had just happened. It was just that he would've liked to make sense of this before anyone else knew.

Jean was his best friend for a reason, though. He shrugged. “We'll just take the bottle of Jäger with us, it'll look like we just went in here for booze.”

“And locked the door?”

“She's too drunk to pay attention to that kind of detail!” Seeming determined, grabbed the bottle off the floor and stood up, his hand still entangled with Marco's. When Jean pulled him up, Marco stumbled dumbly into his chest and maybe he would've taken this opportunity to kiss Jean some more, if Ymir hadn't started yelling again.

Jean looked regretful as he freed his Hand from Marco's grip. They allowed themselves a moment to look at each other, before Marco turned the key and pulled the door open.

“About fucking t – oh.”

“Shut up, Ymir,” Jean muttered as he stormed past her without giving her a second look. Marco could only repress a grin by pressing his lips together as he followed Jean out of the bathroom, probably looking slightly deranged.

All Marco could think of for the rest of the night was Jean; Jean and his lips and the way he looked at him. Longing was burning through his every pore, almost unbearable in its intensity. Just like his thoughts, his eyes were on Jean constantly, admiring the way he laughed, loud and cocky as he was, staring at the curve of his ass, wishing he could kiss him some more.

They didn't share another moment on their own for the remainder of the party.

*

As soon as Marco was awake, he remembered the events of last night. The event, really, because everything else felt laughably insignificant compared to the fact that he'd kissed Jean mere hours before. With a whine, he buried his face back into the pillow.

Memories of Jean bloomed to life in front of his inner eye and heat flooded his entire body, searing exhilaration and embarrassment in equal measures, as he thought back to the way they'd kissed. Weirdly, he couldn't quite remember how exactly their lips had ended up on each other. He recalled the way the had held each other's hands, each other's gazes.

Perhaps making up for the lack of those few seconds between not kissing and kissing, his mind was sharp and clear when it came to the actual kiss. Every sensation, every tiny move, every breath was burned into his memory like it was the most important thing that had ever happened to him.

He had kissed _Jean_.

Unable to stay still, Marco rolled out of bed and almost face-planted himself on the rug, but managed to catch himself in time. In more of a wave than a straight line, he made his way to the bathroom, where he hoped to find comfort in the routine of getting ready – for what, he wasn't exactly sure.

The inescapable fact was that he'd kissed a guy last night. That thought sent a wave of confusion and worry crashing through his stomach. He couldn't really tell what that meant for him. He'd never kissed a guy, had never even considered it before. But of all the uneasy or elated sensations swirling inside of him, regret was not one of them.

Marco stared at his reflection while he brushed his teeth, not really seeing.

No matter what his feelings on guys in general were, kissing Jean had been amazing. There hadn't been a single instance of doubt while their lips had moved together, not the tiniest bit of uncertainty in his actions. Just thinking back to it made Marco's knees weak, _oh shit_.

With a sigh, he leaned heavily onto the edge of the sink, staring at the tooth paste trickling towards the drain.

He really wanted to kiss Jean again.

Marco rinsed his mouth with water, before washing his face with cold water, relishing the freshness and clarity it brought not just to his skin but also to his thoughts. As an afterthought, he carded his wet fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame the sleep-mussed mess.

The first thing he was greeted with when he came downstairs was the smell of coffee. People were still asleep all over the living room. Sasha was drooling onto Connie's chest on a sofa. He saw a little ball of blanket that must've been Armin. Reiner and Berthold were occupying the three-piece, wrapped around each other so tightly they just managed to fit onto the couch at all. He looked at the two for a moment, taking courage, before he ventured into the kitchen.

Jean was leaning against the kitchen counter, both hands wrapped around Marco's favorite Welcome To Night Vale mug. He looked up from the depths of his coffee when he heard the sound of Marco's naked feet on the hardwood floor. He was wearing his glasses.

Marco was suddenly overly aware of the fact that he was only wearing an old T-shirt and boxers.

“Morning,” Jean rasped in his usual post-party voice and a warm feeling of reassurance surged through Marco at the familiarity of it. He could do this. He returned the greeting with a quiet smile and strode over to the coffee machine to pour himself a cup as well. He didn't even like coffee that much, but he welcomed the brief distraction and excuse to stall for a moment with the cream and the sugar. With a different Night Vale mug to match Jean's, he hopped up onto the counter.

“How did you sleep?” Marco asked, letting his feet dangle towards the floor.

Jean grunted in reply. “I forgot to take out my contacts before passing out. My eyes are burning like hell. You?”

Marco took a careful sip of his coffee. “Pretty okay, I just passed out as soon as I was horizontal.”

Silence settled between them again. It wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but rather expectant, heavy with unspoken words. Marco was wracking his brain for possibilities to ease the tension a little, but Jean seemed to have other ideas.

“So... about last night,” he began, addressing his own coffee. Jean had never been one to beat around the bush. In that moment, Marco wasn't sure whether he appreciated that or not. Jean took a deep breath, apparently preparing for what he was about to say next. “That was kinda gay.”

For a second, Marco just stared at him, eyebrows raised. Then, laughter exploded from his mouth and he clapped a hand to his lips to stifle the sound, as he curled forward, almost doubled over with it. He heard Jean join in the laughing, soon snorting and wheezing in an attempt to keep it down and not wake anyone else.

“You're so terrible,” Marco choked out eventually, straightening up and setting his mug on the counter so he could give Jean a light shove on the shoulder. Jean had slipped his glasses up into his hair and was now rubbing at his streaming, reddened eyes as he tried to breathe through the last spasms of giggles.

“There was literally no other way for me to say it!”

Marco held up a hand in a _what the fuck?_ kind of way.“You could've said: 'that was kinda amazing'or something.”

A hot blush rose up into Jean's cheeks. He seemed to struggle for a moment, before he said, “Well, duh.” When Marco didn't reply, stunned into speechlessness by Jean's casualness, he started rambling. “I mean, I didn't exactly expect that to happen. We were kinda tipsy, but I think we were still sober enough to know what we were doing – at least I know I was. You're my best friend and I, like, care about you a lot and I don't think this means I'm gay, I do like girls, but I really liked kissing you and I'd really like to –“

Jean snapped his mouth shut with a clack of his teeth.

The fluttery feeling that had taken over Marco's stomach last night was back again.

“I really liked kissing you, too,” he said, aware that Jean had stopped talking because his insecurities had finally caught up with his mouth. When Marco braved a sideways glance at him, he saw that Jean was looking at his socks. As if feeling Marco's eyes on himself, Jean looked up to meet his gaze.

There was light stubble dusting his jaw, somehow matching his disheveled bedhead that was further messed up by the glasses making it stand up in the front. He looked so damn cute.

“What were you gonna say before you shut yourself up?” Marco asked, not breaking the eye contact.

“That I'd really like to kiss you again?” Jean mumbled as if he didn't actually want Marco to hear it.

Marco's heartbeat stuttered at that, then picked up a strumming rhythm. He saw Jean's eyes flick down to his lips.

“Do it,” Marco whispered.

For some reason, Marco had assumed Jean would surge forward to kiss him, brash and impulsive as he was. Instead, Jean pushed himself off from the kitchen counter and turned to face him, face slightly nervous. Marco barely dared breathe as Jean slid himself between his legs, hands coming to rest on the sides of his thighs, cold even through the fabric of his boxers.

Jean's lips, however, were warm. With a deep hum, Marco slung his arms around Jean's neck, pulling him closer. There was no clumsiness in their kiss this time. Heat spread between them when the initial carefulness fell away, leaving them gasping into each other's mouths as they moved together.

Kissing Jean when he was completely sober was even more amazing than what he remembered from the night before. Jean kissed boldly, claiming what he wanted with his whole body, pressing against him, fingers digging into the flesh of Marco's thighs. Marco could feel himself melting into it, turning into helpless goo in Jean's arms, and he was glad he was sitting on the counter.

When Marco broke away for air, Jean trailed light kisses down the side of his neck, breath heavy against his skin. After a moment, Jean rested his forehead against Marco's shoulder and slipped his hands along Marco's sensitive sides, making him wiggle a little, and then to the small of his back to hold him close. The most adorable sound escaped Jean as Marco slid a hand up over his undercut, fingers tangling in the long strands. Not moving, they stayed like that.

“This is still a little … confusing, to be honest,” Marco admitted after a while, whispering into Jean's ear and watching goosebumps erupt along his skin.

“Yeah, it is,” Jean confirmed, nosing against Marco's throat. “Can we be confused together?”

Marco laughed softly, tightening his arms around Jean to squeeze him affectionately. “Sounds like Math class.”

“Ugh, shut up.”

“Yeah, please be confused with me.”

They didn't really have any idea what they were doing, but as they ventured out into the living room a couple of minutes later to wake the others, Marco held Jean's hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this birthday present for our favorite freckled dork.
> 
> Disclaimer: Marco's opinions about Beck's do not represent my own. He's a beer snob.
> 
> Feedback of any kind would be absolutely lovely and make my day! :)


End file.
